Aladdin
by fanged geranium
Summary: Starring Fëanor, Finwë and Fingolfin, with special guest appearances by Morgoth and Sauron.


This fic was 'inspired' by a drabble written by Dawn Felagund on the subject of 'ostentation'.

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work.

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Fëanor wandered through the hallways of Formenos, wondering where his sons and his father were. It was very quiet, except for the sound of running water coming from the laundry room. He found Finwë kneeling by the washtub rinsing some clothes. This was rather strange, because some centuries before Fëanor had invented a machine to do the washing, and he had shown his father how to use it several times already. "Good morning Son," said Finwë, "Fingolfin is here to see you."

"I don't want to see him," said Fëanor sulkily.

"He said it was about the Silmarils."

"My Silmarils!" cried Fëanor, "What has he done with them?"

"Oh, nothing," said Finwë, "but he has found one of them. Was it not kind of him to come all this way to tell you?"

"Indeed it was," said Fëanor, surprised that his half-brother had not simply kept the Silmaril for himself. He walked back along the corridor to the entrance hall, where Fingolfin was waiting for him.

"Brother!" Fingolfin greeted him.

"Half-brother!" replied Fëanor, "Father tells me you have located one of my Silmarils."

"I have," said Fingolfin, "It is in a cave not far from here, but I cannot get it out because I am claustrophobic."

Fëanor chuckled, delighted with this proof of his half-brother's weakness. "Show me where it is and I shall collect it."

A mile or so from Formenos Fingolfin pointed out a narrow crack in the rocks with a faint glow coming out of it, without a doubt the light of a Silmaril. Fëanor excitedly wriggled through the gap, and found himself in a large cavern. Fëanor looked around the cave. It was filled with gold and jewels and, high up, on a shelf near the roof, one of his Silmarils! He had to climb on the treasure to reach it. A plain gold ring caught his eye and he picked it up and put it in his pocket to examine at a later date.

Fëanor headed back towards the exit, but his way was blocked by an enormous rock. "Half-brother," he called, "there has been an accident. There is a boulder in front of the way out, and I am trapped. Will you please go back to Formenos, and get my sons to help you move it, and get me out?"

Fingolfin laughed maniacally. "I will never let you out! You will rot in that cave for all eternity, and Father will love me best once he has forgotten you!" The laughter faded as Fingolfin walked away.

As Fëanor tried to think of a plan, he polished the Silmaril absently on his sleeve, and out jumped Melkor. "I am the Genie of the Lamp!" announced the rogue Vala, "How may I serve you?" Fëanor explained the problem and Melkor smiled and nodded sympathetically. "I too have been kidnapped and held hostage against my will," he said.

Fëanor looked at him suspiciously. "You were justly imprisoned for your crimes. The situation was entirely different. And I do not believe that you have enough power left to get me out of here, since you could not even get out of my Silmaril without my help."

"I can take you anywhere that you want to go," said Melkor, "anywhere in Arda at any time! I shall prove it to you. Just tell me what you would like to see, and I shall take you there."

"I would like to know what happens to my sons in the future," said Fëanor, "to see whether they will all be happily married with many fine sons of their own."

"Done!" said Melkor, and Fëanor was no longer in the cave, but standing on a wide plain with fiery mountains on one side. His eldest son was there, shining with a brilliant white flame, at the head of an army. Orcs, Balrogs and other creatures that Fëanor did not recognise were running from him, towards the mountains.

"You cowards!" bellowed Maedhros at the retreating horde of Orcs and Balrogs, "Stand and fight me you lily-livered scum!" He waved his sword - held in his left hand, Fëanor noticed - ineffectually at their backs, but then a chasm opened at his feet and he fell into it, holding not his sword, but a Silmaril. Fëanor jumped back, horrified, and found himself standing on a beach, looking at his second son, who also held a Silmaril.

"Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear! O Queen beyond the Western Seas! O Light to us that wander here Amid this world of woven trees!" sang Maglor. A huge wave came in and crashed over their heads, but when it passed Fëanor saw that it had taken Maglor with it. He turned around, in case Maglor was now behind him, but all that was there was a throne, and on the dais before it lay Celegorm, Curufin and Caranthir, all covered in blood and unmistakably dead.

Fëanor closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he was on the quayside of a small port, in the middle of a battle. Amrod and Amras were fighting side by side not far from where he stood. He saw the arrows shot at them from behind, too late to shout a warning, and the twins fell, as close in death as they had been in life. Then he was back in cave. "Well?" said Melkor, "Are you satisfied? Do you wish to go anywhere else?"

"I think I'll just get out of this cave, and leave it at that," said Fëanor. He had never liked Melkor, and would prefer to be indebted to him for as little as possible. Back in Formenos Fëanor found that he had not the heart to tell his father about his half-brother's betrayal. Finwë would work it out for himself soon enough.

One day Fëanor went out hunting with his sons, and when he returned Finwë was distraught. "My son," he said, "I must tell you some terrible news. Your wife is held hostage by your brother Fingolfin, who has also taken a Silmaril. He said that he would return them if you promise to sail to Middle-earth and never come back."

"I can live without my wife, if I must," said Fëanor, "but I will not part with my precious Silmarils, and I will not leave you, Father. Do not fear, I will recover my Silmaril and my wife from that fiend Fingolfin and return to Formenos before you know I am gone!" He hurried to the Silmarils' safe, but the Silmaril with Melkor trapped in it was the one that Fingolfin had taken. Fëanor considered this to be a minor setback, and he returned to his rooms to pack a bag for his journey. He took the ring from its usual place in his pocket and wiped some lint off it as he set it down.

"I am the Genie of the Ring," boomed a voice somewhere above Fëanor's head, "How may I serve you?"

"Sauron, is that you?" asked Fëanor.

"Well who else would I be?" snapped the Genie. "Tell me what you want me to do. I don't have all day to stand here chatting."

"I want you to take me to where my half-brother has put my Silmaril and my wife."

"Oh dear," said Sauron, "I can't actually do that."

"Why not? I thought you Genies could do anything!"

"Melkor can," said Sauron wistfully, "but I am more limited."

"Then will you tell me where they are?"

"That I can do. They are in Olwë's old palace on Tol Eressëa." Sauron tapped his foot impatiently. "May I go back into my ring now?"

"Very well," said Fëanor, "you are rather dull, you know."

Sauron disappeared in an irritated puff of smoke.

Several weeks later Fëanor reached Olwë's former residence. Fingolfin fled as soon as he heard Fëanor's shouted threats from the gates. The Silmaril sat in a chandelier above the dining table, and Fëanor patted it lovingly before he put it in his pocket next to the ring, although he was careful not to rub it. He searched most of the rooms in the palace before he thought to look in the ballroom. "Nerdanel!" called Fëanor as he saw his wife sitting in a silver chair on the far side of the hall. "I am here to rescue you from Fingolfin. Will you come home with me?" She got up and hurried towards him.

Fëanor blinked, and now it was not his wife, but a beautiful golden-haired princess running in his direction. "Fëanor!" she cried "You have come to save me! I always knew you did not truly hate me!"

"Nooooooo!" screamed Fëanor, stepping backwards out of a window to avoid his stepmother's embrace. Instead of hitting the ground he awoke to find himself tangled up in the sheets of his own bed in Formenos, and resolved at once never to eat cheese so late in the evening again.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," said Fëanor, his voice quavering slightly, and Finwë walked into the room.

"I heard you shouting," he said, "did you have one of your nightmares?"

"Yes Daddy," sniffed Fëanor.

"I thought so," said Finwë, sitting down beside his son and wrapping his arms around him.

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_Author's Note: This insight into_ _Fëanor's subconscious was brought to you courtesy of Lórien and Freud._


End file.
